A Few Days at a Time 10
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Another story in the "A Few Days" series; Sara moves to Vegas and our version of how some events occurred weaving in and around episodes of each season. Mostly fluff, perhaps a little angst.
1. Chapter 1

**A Few Days at a Time: Chapter 1**

"Sara." There was a long pause after she said "Yes".

"Grissom? What's wrong?"

"Sara—Sara," his voice over the phone was hushed and tired. "Can you come? I need someone I trust."

She did not have to think, but immediately said "Yes."

He told her about Holly Gribbs with every question beginning with "Why?" His words tumbled out. He had been made lab supervisor—a battlefield promotion—he called it; his friend Brass back as a detective. Not only did he have the shooting of a new employee but he had to find the reason. She heard Warrick Brown's name and knew this was part of his distress. Grissom always spoke with pride about Warrick, the local guy with street smarts.

"When do you need me?" She asked.

"As soon as you can come. I want you to investigate—not internal affairs. If I can present a report quickly, I think it will satisfy the sheriff."

Sara packed one suitcase. A few days, she thought, as she filed a leave application for a week. Her new boss did not like granting her quick request but he did so knowing Sara was one of the few investigators who would agree to work any time he asked.

Grissom had reserved a car and given direction to his location. She giggled as she watched the dummies land and his audience applauded. When he turned to face her, she saw the worried lines around his eyes, but he was smiling as he said her name.

By the time she completed her investigation, finding that Warrick Brown had left the scene, leaving Holly Gribbs alone, while he placed a bet, she had also met the others on his team. Nick Stokes with his easy smile and Texas accent was polite, teasing with his eyes. Catherine Willows had no time for her at first, but quickly regarded her as an equal when it came to investigating. Of course, when Warrick learned she was investigating him and his whereabouts, a guarded skeptic was the best way she could describe him.

Sara stayed with Grissom. He gave her a key from his desk drawer saying he would be there later. She did not ask for details but Holly died and Warrick kept his job.

Their conversation in his bed would be what she remembered later. He arrived, exhausted, physical drained from a double shift, with emotions of the previous hours concealed behind troubled eyes. She fixed food, watched as he ate, and reached across the table to take his hand.

"Come to bed. You need sleep." She said.

They did not sleep. Passion replaced exhaustion as he touched her hair, kissed her closed eyes, and moved hands on her body. His gentle caresses touched her skin but when his mouth found hers, it was with a drive of desire. He kissed her neck, her bared shoulder where her skin was cool, smooth against his lips and tongue. All the emotion of the past twenty four hours detonated inside his body.

Her response to him was as furious as his own. Her arms were around his neck as her mouth sought wherever she could find to place them. She was on the bed but could not remember how she got there, feeling that her bones had been melted by the heat generated between their bodies.

Grissom wanted to make her a part of him, a graft onto his living breathing body, to hold her shape against him for himself. He believed in this moment she had truly been made for him; he knew the touch of her hand, the feel of her skin, the scent of her body. It was a dream he never wanted to end. When he looked into her brown eyes—almost completely black—he knew she had been in the same stormy sea now calmed by their act.

"Sara, will you move?" He asked as he held her, his head snug against her chin. His thumb made circles against her palm. "I can hire you tomorrow." He heard her giggle and felt lips against his temple.

"This is the first job offer I've ever had while in bed."

He did not move, well aware that she had not said "no".

She rolled to face him holding his face in her hands. "We should have a very serious talk about my moving here—should I decide to do so."

"What's to talk about? You can live with me." He noticed the small frown between her eyes. "We can find you a place if you want. We can work together. What else is there?"

"Oh, Grissom." She pulled him into a kiss. "We'll talk when we wake up."

He wrapped arms around her as she found that place against his chest and shoulder. "Sleep, Sara." Her hands combed through his hair and in seconds he was asleep.

It took Sara longer to sleep. She had many conflicting thoughts about moving to Las Vegas, a strange, hot city in the middle of a desert and one reason to move—next to her, breathing steady, warm breaths was the reason she would move. They would talk.

But when she woke, Grissom was dressed and sitting on the bed. "I've got to go in early. Come in later—you are still consulting until I file your paperwork." He kissed her before she rolled to his pillow. "You are cute when you wake up."

"Grissom, we need to talk."

"We will. My office. I want to officially show you around." He turned his head when he smiled. "We need someone like you on this team. Say you will move—I'll help you." His hand passed across her hair. "Sleep. Come in later."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: We do not own these characters! If we did, the story we know would certainly be different! Enjoy!_

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 2**

Sara agreed to move; another shift spent in the lab, seeing how smoothly things were done, using equipment she had only read about, watching Grissom work with others combined to make it easier to say yes. She returned to San Francisco, worked ten days after giving notice and packed her belongings in small boxes.

She visited her mother who, after hearing her daughter's news, put a hand on her shoulder and wished her well. "Be careful, Sara." Sister Deborah hugged Sara, told her to write, and got a promise from Sara to visit.

Grissom flew to San Francisco to help her move her few possessions in a rented truck. Most of it would have fit inside the trunk of a car because she left her well-worn, second hand and curb-side furnishings for the new tenant in her apartment. She moved her small desk; the only furniture she had any attachment to, explaining to Grissom that it was the first thing she had purchased for herself.

They talked and laughed all the way to Las Vegas. This was fun, both decided, seeing each other every day. She made a long list of things she had to do.

"Tear it up. We'll get everything done."

Sara kept writing. "We have to be professional at work, Grissom."

"I can do that. No one needs to know our private lives."

"Hands off at work—you will be my supervisor."

"Can you do this," he asked.

"I will."

He insisted she stay with him. She insisted she needed her own place.

"You can live with me. It's easy. And fun. Waking up with you." They were sitting on his sofa and he pulled her close. "I like this."

She would not unpack her boxes. She made a list of apartments, none far from Grissom's townhouse and he threw it in the trash. She took her severance pay and bought a car.

The others were curious—who was the new girl, how had Grissom gotten her employed so quickly, but when she worked as hard and as long as they did, their questions were forgotten. Sara was the ultimate professional, showing a control that Grissom never expected in maintaining a distance that was remarkable because of her emotional attachment to victims. He noticed it first with women, the abused victims of domestic violence. He could not shield her from all of them, but he tried. Like Nick, she wore compassion on her sleeve.

He was surprised when she came into his office announcing they needed to talk, and sitting across from him, she said, "I've found an apartment."

His irritation showed with the sound of his pen tapping on the desk. "We need to talk about this later."

"No—we will never talk about it."

"Why?"

A thousands reasons why, she thought. She said, "You are my supervisor. Someone is going to find out about us. I don't want that. Catherine thinks I'm living in a Residence Inn—she asks weekly if I've found a place."

"We need to talk about this later." He picked up a folder.

"Okay, but I've signed a lease."

His grip tightened on the pen and he dropped his eyes to avoid her unflinching stare. He realized this was the first time he had experienced any annoyance or aggravation with her. "We'll talk later. I need to work."

By the time he got home, she was asleep, waking enough to wrap arms around him and whisper his name. Later in the afternoon, they did not mention the new apartment or her things packed in boxes in his spare bedroom. Instead, he brought her tea as she stirred and began to wake.

Bedroom eyes, he thought, that's how he saw her in waking moments, eyes that sparkled when she looked at him, eyes that could be playful and become serious in a blink, eyes that reflected too much of the world, eyes that glanced at him across a room and his thoughts would stop.

She had melted against his shoulder and around his legs where she felt so much a part of him in the intimacy after sex. They had moved past the furious, fast, tearing clothes off now act to a time of knowing. Except for times when simmering desire rushed to surface in unexpected moments, when one revealed some secret from the past or one made a comment while working that caused an outward smile or meeting of eyes. They would almost collide in leaving work, separately, avoiding touching because to do so would give away their secret.

Several days before they were exhausted from work, from the frustration of an unsolved case, from passion that erupted in the enclosed space of an airplane, and had been postponed until he opened the door of his house. What he heard was the sound of a knife repeatedly hitting a cutting board. A head of lettuce was on the receiving end, chopped into dime-size pieces.

He pulled the knife from her hand and placed arms around her.

"I don't want you to see me like this," she whispered.

"We all have our buttons, honey. We just have to move on—do something else. Close the door on each case. We can't keep going if we can't move forward."

Sara was the one who kindled the passion, transferring frustrations to desire as she backed him against the countertop. Much later he would laugh at the trail of clothing left in their wake because he had no clear memory of how his pants or shirt came off. He remembered the fire in her eyes, the heat of her hands, and the delicious scent of her body as her lips touched him. He had shivered as he felt the intense burning in his body to love her again.

That morning, after such intense passion, he had slept deeply, soundly, not waking when her dreams woke her—terrifying, screaming dreams of someone demanding help, always the same, always just out of reach. It was her recurring nightmare, never the same person, but taking the face of a victim. She made her decision as she curled against Grissom's warm body. She had to have her own space, to be able to breathe when she woke from her dreams, to keep her secret from him.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Short one now and another one later today! _

**A Few Days at a Time: Chapter 3**

Today, they tumbled from bed in no hurry; both with the flushed relaxed appearance left by making love. He touched her frequently as she prepared food; she responded in her own way, leaning against him, pausing as his hand came to her.

It took him by surprise when she said, "I need to move to my apartment."

He stopped eating.

Sara rushed into her next sentence. "I need some space."

His hand waved around the area. "You can have all this."

"No, I need my own space, Grissom. Not yours."

"Sara."

"No—I need to be able to breathe." Wrong words she realized. "I can't live with you." Wrong words again, she thought.

He sat still, his fork in mid-air, trying to comprehend what she was saying as minutes passed. He asked "Why?"

Sara bit her lip to keep from crying. This was not what she wanted. "I need an address. I need a place of my own." She rapidly blinked away tears. "Grissom, please understand. I need time. I need my job—just as much as I need you."

Sitting across the table from her, his emotions and his brain in a war within his body, he put down his fork and reached for her hand. His brain won this battle. He said, "I understand." He kissed her hand. "I'll move your things."

It took a month to move her few boxes, find furniture for her apartment, then a scheduled day off to try out her new bed.

"I've never had a brand new bed to sleep in." She said as they stretched new sheets across the bed. She jumped in the center of the bed—a bigger one than she had in San Francisco—and one he insisted she get. "Come here. I'm not ready to sleep!"

He laughed with her. They maintained a careful avoidance of contact at work, most of the time. She was becoming a valued and well-liked member of his team. Even Warrick had eased into a working relationship with her. Grissom knew it was because of her determination, her enthusiasm, and her desire to be one of them.

They slipped into a separate, secret life after work. He came to her apartment and watched her prepare food; they ate together, and then they loved each other. He would sleep with her and go home to dress for work. Some mornings, an unspoken signal was given and she would arrive at his place, finding him cooking or waiting with food he purchased. She rarely slept with him. She would love him, passionately, desiring his touch, stay wrapped in his arms for a few hours, then return to her apartment.

It was a puzzle to Grissom, but he said he understood. He liked his privacy as much as she wanted hers. They would work this out—she needed time to adjust to a new job, to a new city, to being with him every day.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 4**

Teri Miller came in to help with a case of a long missing child, finally meeting Grissom and Sara after their combined work on the vineyard skull. When she walked in, Grissom knew her from a description of her striking good looks. He listened as Teri and Sara talked about common interests. He found the anthropologist fascinating as well as attractive—he kept his thoughts private.

Grissom was confused and worried when Sara stung him with her words "You want to sleep with me?" The case had gotten to her, too close, in too deep to pull her out when he realized it was domestic abuse. He saw the flash of temper and determination dug in. She was ready to attack the husband—a bulldog, he thought. She didn't give up.

He knocked on her door after work and waited, finally letting himself in with the key she insisted he keep. He heard the shower and quietly opened the bathroom door. Steam shrouded the room and he almost called her name before hearing crying from the shower. He found her curled in the tub, sobs shaking her shoulders, her head against her knees.

Without thinking, he turned off the water and reached for a towel. Her red-rimmed eyes met his in a moment of paralyzing panic before recognition kicked in.

"Leave me alone. I don't want you here."

He had already wrapped her in a towel. "Shhh—honey—what has happened?" He wrapped another towel around her hair as he had seen her do a dozen times; it promptly fell to the floor. He half walked, half carried her to the bed as she took in great gasps of air, a spasm of coughing catching her as he tried to hold her and pull covers back.

Once in bed she rolled away, pulling knees to her chest, covering her face with her hands. She managed to repeat, "Go away. I don't want you to see me like this."

"I'm here. I'm not leaving." He got into bed with her. "What has happened?" His mind went into gear trying to determine the cause of her tears. He had seen her cry on several occasions, but nothing like this. "Has something happened to your mother?"

Her head shook as he pulled her against him.

"Please leave."

"No." He wrapped arms around her. "You wanted me to sleep with you. Here I am."

When he said it, she removed her hands from her face, wiping her eyes. She hiccupped twice before saying, "I don't want you to see me like this."

"Tell me why, what happened?"

"Nothing—I'm tired, that's all."

She was exhausted, a condition she hated to admit to anyone, certainly to Grissom. She had worked anytime he worked, anytime one of the others needed help, overtime, call-ins, double shifts. Tonight, after Kaye Shelton's murder could not be solved, seeing the husband walk out when Grissom's evidence freed him, had caused her to crack. She managed to hold herself until she got home and to the privacy of her shower.

Sara let him hold her.

"We have to move on, honey. We could chase rabbits for months, get nothing. We have to go where evidence takes us."

"I know. I'm just tired. I need to sleep."

"Where are your pajamas?" He asked.

She looked puzzled.

"What you sleep in?"

She waved a hand towards the bathroom. "Behind the door."

He helped her pull a t-shirt on. "Rest, Sara."

"Will you stay?"

He reached for a book at her bedside. "I'll be here." He turned to a favorite story and began reading. In fifteen minutes, she was asleep. Grissom closed the book and slept, waking twice when Sara tossed and mumbled in her sleep. She needed a night off, he decided, and let a note telling her so. He had work to do as soon as he passed out assignments.

When Sara woke after sleeping for twelve hours, finding one side of the bed empty yet obviously shared, she found his note. Her first instinct was to call him; instead she dressed and headed to work. She was not going to take a day off because he had found her crying. She knew not to be emotional—sometimes memories became too much for her to hide.

He wasn't in the lab. She walked the halls trying to find him without asking anyone, by accident learning his location after hearing he was "babysitting a pig for some experiment."

She picked up sandwiches and coffee and a blanket, knowing he would be sitting in the cold, never thinking about something to eat.

Later, they found a blue Teflon mark around Kaye Shelton's wound. When Sara said bullets were easier for a jury to understand than bugs, Grissom had to smile when he saw her face.

Grissom asked her to check on Warrick—why he missed court; she did so quietly, leaving him with a tape.

_A/N: Thanks for reading along. _


	5. Chapter 5

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 5**

"Pick me up." Sara did not wait for him to return her call, just left her message and gathered a few things.

They did not talk as he drove the few blocks to his townhouse but he took her hand and held it against his chest. "Thanks," he said once she was inside his vehicle.

Several weeks ago, she decided too many people knew where Grissom lived. Her car in his driveway would be noticed.

Once inside his house, she dropped her bag as their arms folded around each other. She felt the tension across his shoulders as they hugged. After long minutes passed she felt him begin to relax. Neither had the need to say more; both standing in the middle of the room holding each other.

"I've wanted to do this a dozen times today," Grissom said.

"Now you can," she teased, as she kissed a spot below his ear. "And do this." Her lips moved to his mouth.

When he had to breathe, he pulled from her. "Will you stay?" She nodded. Without her car, she could walk home, only a few blocks, as she had done so on several occasions when she could not sleep.

"I'll stay." She said as she tucked her head against his chin. "I'll stay." Quietness followed as the two settled together, letting a sense of calm and seclusion wrap around them.

"I'm sorry about Warrick," she whispered.

"Shhh—not now. Nothing about work."

Her fingertips touched his nose, his eyebrow, traced along his cheek to his chin, and finally to his lips where his own hand covered hers. "I need a shower," he said.

She broke from him. "I'll fix something to eat."

By the time she had prepared a sandwich, he was back in the kitchen hungry for more than food. "Leave it." He said, but she insisted he eat while she showered. He sat in the bathroom, eating and talking about nothing important—nothing remembered as soon as she stepped out of the shower.

Somewhere he heard a neighbor's dog bark as his hand moved around her body. They took a few steps to his bedroom, a dark protected shelter so different from the rest of his place. Here, no sunlight entered between heavy curtains. Muted lamplight made circles on the ceiling that dimmed with a bedside switch. He touched it now to cast the room into almost totally darkness.

Their lovemaking was one of gentle passion between lovers who knew the intimate needs and desires of each other. She was always surprised at the passion this man could create in her, and, at times, he would gently remind her to "let go, come with me" into waves rolling ashore in a gentle breeze. In the early morning, he touched her in secret places until her breathing stopped, she gasped for air as his lips touched her. When he knew she was content, he conceded his own desire, looking into dark eyes, pools of blackness that smiled into his own.

In the silence afterwards, they did not need words or constant talk. The rest of their lives was filled with noise, but here they formed a silent language of their own, one of perceptions and thought without the need for words. He knew when to pull covers around them; she knew how to place her hands in his as contentment brought sleep.

Sara almost always woke first. She would look at the face of her lover and realize how young he looked when rested, how much the stress of work affected him with certain cases, how he worried about every person in the lab. She did not want to be a reason for additional concern, knowing she was.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 6**

_Two weeks before, she had overheard Grissom's conversation with Conrad Ecklie, the snide, condescending supervisor of day shift. Grissom was defending her, saying she had been hired over others because of her experience, her professionalism, her ability to ask questions and seek answers. She should have walked away, made her out-of-sight position known, but she remained where she was. _

_Ecklie had accused Grissom of bringing her to Vegas so he could have a "convenient screw"—words spit out in a hateful, vindictive manner. "You've tried to bed every woman in the lab, Gil. They all know you are a tomcat—this one will learn soon enough!"_

_Sara shrank behind the shelves knowing her face had flushed. _

_Grissom's words hissed out of his mouth. "Leave her alone, Conrad. You so much as speak to her, I'll find out. She's a great investigator—she will be the best one on my team while you are spinning wheels with new employees every six weeks."_

_She could not see the two men, but the sound of their voices told her they were inches away from each other. She could not leave her hiding place until they moved on. _

"_If I so much as suspect you two—I'll report you. She'll be fired; you will be demoted—so much for your great career and she won't have one." Ecklie's voice dripped with quiet rage. _

_She heard a scoff and a curse word from Grissom before one man left—she was sure it was Grissom, following shortly by another departure. _

_Another shift passed before she voiced her fear to Grissom, saying only that she had overheard Ecklie in a conversation and his temper and sarcasm frightened her._

"_Don't worry about Conrad. He's harmless most of the time." Grissom said as he laughed at her concern. _

_But when she suggested that she no longer park her car in his driveway, he agreed. During dinner, she noticed the worry in his eyes did not leave so quickly. _

Grissom stirred but did not wake. She wanted to kiss him, to see his eyes open to find her beside him. She glanced at the clock—nearly seven hours of sleep. She kissed his chest and by the third kiss, she felt his hand move in her hair. Slowly, her lips moved from his chest to his neck to his lips, lingering, playing, teasing as she went.

He responded with hands that found secret, sensitive places as deliberate, patient play set fire to longings of both. When he had stilled the fire within her, he bent over her face and watched as a flush brightened her cheeks and reflected in her eyes. He gave over to his own fire, feeling warm contractions of her body against him. Her legs wrapped around his as he groaned and collapsed against her shoulder.

Softly, he said, "How beautiful you are."

She gave him an uncertain smile as he gently touched her, moving covers until he revealed her nude body. His eyes followed his fingers as he touched her chin, her shoulder, each breast, and moved down her abdomen. She giggled. He bent to kiss her, lightly touching a tender place with his tongue, smiling when she shivered.

He ran a hand along her leg. "You've got a beautiful body." He said as he lifted her knee and kissed it. He glanced at her before taking her foot in his hand. "Cold?" She shook her head. He had done this before—almost an inspection of details on her body, done with gentle hands, lots of kisses. Once he had playfully named the process "searching for Sara."

The first time had been months ago when she kept a sheet wrapped around her body as he touched her skin underneath. He had slowly unwrapped her giving her confidence by keeping his eyes on her face as his hands explored.

Grissom's arm slipped around her as he pulled covers around them. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." She kissed him. This was their moment; the outside world did not exist in this dark room. Time passed because of the clock, but they were unhurried. He read to her from a book he kept beside the bed, an old novel they had read before, but sharing the story brought a different perspective.

"The first time I skipped the part when the old guy dies and Edmond is thrown into the sea." Sara said.

Grissom grinned. "Why? You know he has to live for the story to continue."

She shrugged. "I don't know—I wanted Edmond to be safe."

He looked up from the book. "How old were you?" He knew she was a prolific reader.

"I don't know. About twelve. A librarian handed it to me one summer. I saw Edmond as a hero."

"And now?" He had closed the book.

Sara smiled. "I'm waiting until the end to decide." She picked the book up and thumbed pages. "The rate we are reading, we might finish by the time we retire."

"You want to hit some balls around this afternoon?" He was trying to get her interested in golf. Twice since she moved they had been on a golf course; both times she was more interested in early morning wildlife than where her ball landed.

"Go ahead without me." As she answered, she punched her pillow and curled around Grissom. "I could sleep a little longer."

"Stay here. I'll get food." He kissed her before crawling out of bed and before he left the room, she was asleep.

He took his time as he prepared a galette, a thin crust pastry surrounding eggs and cheese, baking it while he showered. Sara continued to sleep. He doubted if she was sleeping much in her apartment, but he would not ask. Getting her hired had been the easy part of moving her to Vegas, working with her on a daily basis had been more difficult than he had imagined.

And now Ecklie was a problem, following Sara's assignments, checking her personnel records; quietly, others told him. Grissom had confronted him in the file room and after words that meant nothing, but threatened everything; he knew Ecklie could cause trouble. A few days later, as if she had heard their words, Sara asked him to pick her up instead of driving her car to his house.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 7**

Days passed as they worked together; Grissom found he depended on her to work beside him. She would be the first to show up even when she was not in his bed when he got a call. For weeks he had been amazed at her dedication to work and her ability to separate from the intensely personal life they shared outside the lab.

The tape came in a plain brown package; nothing about it gave him any indication of what would eventually be the results of the sender's request. A fire, two dead, and a husband and father in jail got his interest. He knew it was Ecklie's case; he knew Ecklie would not like it—he did not realize the long reaching rage until too late.

"We need to talk." Jim Brass said, leaning against the parked car. "Away from here."

Grissom grunted, saying "I'm up to my eyeballs in work. What's this about?" Grissom was heading to another crime scene, already in his tenth hour of work.

Brass opened the passenger door of his car. "Get in. Crime will wait." The two men had known each other for years, occasionally played golf together, and, more often, found a drinking buddy in the other. "This is off-the clock time."

Grissom looked puzzled. Instead of a bar, Brass pulled into a local burger joint. "Let's eat." Grissom knew Brass was stalling and remained in the car.

He asked, "What's going on?"

Brass stared ahead. "Ecklie is out to get you. He is out for blood after the arson case was thrown out."

Grissom scoffed. "What can he do? The case was a rush job—his half assed investigation is what put the guy in jail!" He started to open the car door when Brass held a hand up; he would not look at him. Grissom realized his friend had more to say. "What else, Jim?"

"It's Sara."

Grissom eased the door closed. "What about Sara?"

Brass wiped a hand across his face. "Ecklie knows you are untouchable—almost. He thinks there's something going on between you and Sara." Brass paused for a few seconds before he continued. "He doesn't know. He's asking around—he knows who to ask and who to avoid. He will find someone."

The two men remained in the car with minutes passing before Grissom said, "Who knows?"

"No one. I made a guess after I heard Ecklie was asking around. You have to do something."

This time it was Grissom who passed a hand across his face. "I—I don't know what to do."

He heard the air escape from Brass's lungs. "You are going to get her fired. You are her supervisor—move her to another shift. Sh—man, you know you can't do this! Don't tell me you never thought of this before moving her here?" This time he had turned to face Grissom. "Sara is a good CSI. Everyone likes her—she's doing a great job. Warrick and Nick sing her praises to everyone." He shook his head. "Let's get a burger."

Grissom barely ate. Their talk turned to work, but his mind was elsewhere.


	8. Chapter 8

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 8 **

Grissom did not tell Sara about the conversation with Brass. Instead, he assigned her difficult tasks or periphery assignments; she did not complain. He showed up at her apartment unannounced and she always opened her door and smiled, never asking to go out to dinner or to a movie or to a show. She kept his favorite foods in her refrigerator, his favorite book beside her bed.

"What do you do when I'm not here?" He asked early one morning. He had arrived at her apartment calling her from the parking lot. She smelled of sunshine and sea breezes when she wrapped arms around him and he realized how arrogant and selfish he behaved at work.

She giggled—a soft sweet sound he rarely heard at work. "I wait for you."

He knew she spoke the truth. She kept a police scanner in her kitchen, forensics textbooks on her table, and a half-worked crossword puzzle at her bedside.

While Sara worked, he took Teri Miller to dinner after she came to assist the lab in identifying bones found in the desert. He made sure Catherine knew they were going to eat; Catherine knew him well enough to know Dr. Miller was the type woman he had flirted with for years. He also knew Catherine would tell others about this 'date'.

Sara rolled with laughter when he told her about his page and the phone call and Dr. Miller's disappearance. He was standing in his bedroom undressing after processing two dead bodies covered with several days of insect activity—while wearing his best suit.

"What is so funny?" He asked, throwing a smelly shirt her way; she fanned the shirt with her hand as she laughed.

"You! I heard you were a playboy, but I didn't believe it for a minute—I guess Teri Miller heard the same thing." She continued to laugh as he got into the shower, picking up his shirt and his suit and placing it into a laundry bag for special cleaning.

Grissom was pleased with life. He knew he had made the right decision in getting her to Las Vegas. He knew he had made the right decision by hiring her. These were halcyon days when she was in his house or when he was in her small apartment. Their agreement not to discuss work within these walls worked.

Working together was a learning process. He had to carefully schedule working with the others; to show up case after case with Sara drew too much attention. Even Catherine remarked at Sara's ability to be in the right place at the right time when Grissom needed notes taken, or another hand, or another set of eyes.

There were times when Grissom watched a battle going on as Sara fought to be a professional, hiding her emotions. Pam Adler's case tipped the scale and he saw how vulnerable she was, how the fight for justice was embedded in how and why she worked, how hard it was for her to move on. His words meant nothing when he realized she was visiting Pam on a regular basis. When she spent a long shift with Teri Miller then disappeared to bury the remains of a gorilla just as she had buried the ashes of a dog in California, he went to her apartment to wait for her.

He practically had to feed her when she arrived, spooning soup into her bowl and watching as it cooled. "Eat, Sara," he reminded her. She was as emotional about animals as she was humans. He pulled a small box from his pocket.

He held it out. "I got something for you."

Sara recognized the name on the rectangle shaped box—a well-known jeweler from The Forum Shops. Her brown eyes met Grissom's. "What is it?"

"Open it."

She kept her hands beside her soup bowl. He slid it across the table. Slowly, she picked it up, the box itself felt expensive in her hands. She popped the top back and sucked in her breath. The silver necklace shimmered like white fire against the dark velvet lining. Pearls interlaced with the silver making a simple elegant design.

Sara lifted eyes to Grissom. He sat back in his chair with crossed arms, smiling. "Put it on."

It was the most expensive jewelry she had ever worn. "Why? What's the occasion?" She asked.

Grissom's hands had moved to her shoulders after he had fastened the necklace. "I wanted to buy you something." His lips touched her neck. "How many dates have you had since you came here? How many movies have you seen? How many parties have you been too?"

She smiled. "I have you—I don't need dates or parties or movies."


	9. Chapter 9

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 9**

Sara was happy to be with Grissom—most of the time. Their relationship had developed a predictable pattern of long hours at work followed by short times of sleep, occasionally sharing the same days off. Grissom would have preferred having her sleep in his bed every day, but she found it difficult to stay. She needed privacy, her own space and time. His townhouse was his, not hers. And while she kept a few things there, she was the visitor. Days would pass when they would work with each other leaving to meet later in her apartment or his townhouse; or a week would pass before they would be able to see each other in private because of conflicting schedules and cases.

When Sara learned about Grissom's mother, she realized how little he talked about himself or his parents; both had bothersome histories. And by asking, she would have to reveal her own troublesome past. It was easier to live in the present, preparing a meal, sharing a book, making love in late afternoon while most of the city worked or played.

She had seen an angry Grissom for the first time when she volunteered to assist the FBI. He had practically ordered her not to work with them, but when he showed up, she recognized concern in his eyes, not anger. Later, Catherine told her how near Grissom came to severe injury when Sid Goggle attacked him. Sara managed to hide her own fear until after breakfast when she arrived at his house.

"What would have happened if Catherine had not gotten there?" She cried as he opened the door to her knock. She had run the few blocks from her house to his, a distance barely long enough to break a sweat or make her breathless. She had managed to control her panic while alone, and now seeing him, she crumpled.

His response to her panic was a grin. "She did." His hand came to her face. "You're cute when you run." He pushed the door closed as she came to him, resting her head against his chest. He almost added a comment about his own anxiety level.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Grissom kissed her. "Don't be." He wasn't sure why she was sorry but he was happy she had come to him.

"Sara." He would say her name on a whisper, breathing out the sound against her neck, tasting her skin as he kissed her.

Today, they raced to shed clothes, leaving shoes, shirts, and pants in a trail from front door to bed. He had every intention of talking—they needed to have a discussion—a serious one. It never happened. Their intentions concentrated on each other until he heard her gasp and felt the waves of contractions around him.

"Sweet Sara," he whispered, his own breath taken as he collapsed against her. In these minutes, he knew she was the only woman he would ever love. Seconds later, he remembered they had to talk about their future. But his thoughts vanished as she held him, his eyes closed, and he felt her warmth spreading against his skin.

When Grissom woke, he found her reading, propped against pillows and the bed, using a small flashlight to illuminate her book. In a moment, he saw a young woman as she concentrated on reading, her hair tucked behind her ear; one who had so willingly given herself to him, asking for nothing, no commitment, no responsibility from him. For the first time in his life his heart ached—knowing it was not his heart but some primal function in his brain that connected him to her. He knew what he needed to say would drain her spirit and drive her away. He wanted to postpone his words for a few more days.

"I think about you all the time," he whispered.

She looked up and smiled. "You do?"

He nodded. "Let's get out of town, just for a night."

"We are working—unless there's a body in Jean or Laughlin."

He laughed. "Tomorrow—I'm giving you a night off, maxed out on overtime. Pack a bag and we'll go."

That night he sent Nick and Sara on an easy assignment; both rolling eyes and giving a good-natured wave as they left. Before the sun was up, they were clocking out and within an hour, Grissom was driving her car out of Las Vegas.

_A/N: We will be away from the internet for 3 days. We will post another chapter today, next one on Saturday or Sunday. Enjoy!_


	10. Chapter 10

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 10**

"North—northeast—road trip to where?" Sara had a bag of what she called "road trip" food in her lap. "I love road trips. How long until we get there? Do I get to guess?"

Grissom chuckled. "It's been awhile since we traveled. What's a few hours from Vegas in this direction? This is an easy one. Named by the Mormons."

"Zion!" He heard a laugh after she said the word. "Zion National Park. It's supposed to be beautiful." She leaned over and slipped her hand around his arm. "Thanks."

The interstate highway passed through desert and mountains before they turned east. Another hour got them to the national park gate, a pass for the car, and a room at the lodge. Sara had twisted her neck in all directions, gaping in awe, to take in the mountains as they drove into the canyon created by a small river over millions of years. It was the lush green trees and meadows that took her by surprise after driving through a desert for hours.

"Big trees, real trees. How do you find these places?" She asked as she brought her head inside the car. He had stopped to point out a stone arch far above their heads passing binoculars to her. "I see it! It looks so tiny!"

The sky was azure blue, cloudless, as he drove through the park loop, towering cliffs above their heads, appearing brilliant white and iron red. The dark wood lodge would have been a remarkable building in any setting, but surrounded by sheer rock walls and nestled among old trees humbled it.

"This is so beautiful!" She turned to him as he stopped in front of the long two story lodge. "And we didn't have to walk in." She playfully punched his shoulder.

"We have only one night."

They lunched outside with other tourists watching kids run around eating ice cream and old couples leaning on each other as they walked back to rooms.

"Walk or sleep?" Grissom asked. "Or we can ride the tram into the canyon."

They opted for the tram, a slow moving vehicle with open sides that made frequent stops along a narrow paved road. They walked an easy trail into a slot canyon, seeing waterfalls cascading hundreds of feet to clear cold pools, lizards sunning on flat rocks, and a peregrine falcon circling high above the canyon floor.

By the time they returned to their room, both stretched out to sleep, too tired to do anything else for now; cool sheets, the quiet, and a dark room lulled both into a nap.

Grissom woke to find one side of the bed empty or rather the space beside him was empty, and finding the room the same way, he found Sara sitting in a rocking chair on the balcony.

"Hey—missed you." He sat beside her in another chair and motioned for her to join him.

"It's so beautiful out here. I couldn't sleep long."

They sat in comfortable silence, his foot moving the chair as she settled against him. Her head rested on his shoulder.

"I love my head right here—it was made for me." She said her words so softly he would have missed them if there had been a breeze blowing.

"Sara," he said her name and, again, silence came.

Daylight was slowing changing as the sun had moved across the canyon, dusk coming much earlier here than in Las Vegas. After dinner in the lodge, they were back in the same place, hearing the night sounds of birds above their heads. They read brochures about the park, the names of the monoliths and the mountains, the building of the mile long tunnel.

Sara's hand touched Grissom's face. "What's wrong, Grissom?"

He shook his head, "nothing."

Some instinct made her ask again. "What's wrong?" Her fingertips traced the tiny lines around his eyes and moved into his hair.

"Let's go to bed." He whispered. "Everything else can wait."

She smiled. "Okay," leaving him to shower.

Sara had watched Grissom all day. Everything about him made her want him—love him if she could identify the feelings—seeing him walk along the path, his smile when he glanced at her, his delight in pointing out a lizard or the falcon, his tousled curled hair, and the childlike enthusiasm of all things he enjoyed. She wanted to know the part he kept hidden from her, the part she barely knew. She realized she would have to share her own secrets, and in her limited experience, to tell those would drive him away.

She pulled a short white nightgown from her bag, smiling as she knew it would not stay on, but perhaps it would drive some of the worry lines away from Grissom's eyes. He was sitting in a chair, feet propped on the bed when she came into the room. From the look in his eyes, she knew he wanted to say something, but instead, he stood and stared. She walked to the bed and pulled back the covers.

"Coming?" She asked.

"I—I need to shower. I won't be long." He backed across the room and disappeared. Within minutes, he was back, wearing nothing but a towel which he tossed before getting into bed. Their eyes met, understanding the same message passed between them; for a minute, neither moved until Sara sighed.

"You worry too much, Gil." She said, quietly. Her hand played along his jaw and her fingers touched his ear. She had draped one leg across him bringing him into an intimate hold with her own body. "Can you tell me?"

"Not now, honey."

Light from outside gave their bed a slight glow making her eyes and hair darker against the white sheets. His hands tugged at the white gown, pulling it over her head and tossing it away.

"Do you ever dream?" he asked. "Dreaming of something you want so badly and when you think it's yours, someone or something grabs it away?" His arms wrapped around her.

Sara's breath caught in her throat. He knew nothing of her nightmares; terrors that kept her awake and prevented her from sharing his bed every night. "Most dreams don't come true—not in real life," Sara said.

"You're right." His lips searched for hers as heat generated between the two.

For a time they forgot about dreams and worry lines and unspoken concerns. His warm hands touched her back, traced her spine to its end and brought her own passion to his. In the distance, he heard water in the Virgin River, rushing over rocks and swirling around boulders in its path. This bond between them was so much like a river, traveling an unknown course, at times deep and treacherous, sometimes smooth and easy; he wanted it to be a long river free of danger but knew what he desired was not possible.

They moved in rhythm with each other until he heard her gasp and felt her lips against his. He pulled back slightly before he kissed her again, feeling her tongue against his, her fingers in his hair, and her hand pressed against the middle of his back. There was no hurry or urgency as they made love; he heard his name whispered as she said "Gil." No other time would she say his first name but in this room, in the park named after a holy place, he knew she was his chosen one. It caused his head to ache as he held her and uneasiness and apprehension crept into his brain.

Sara slept content to be held and to hold him. In the dim light, Grissom could see her relaxed face; a slight smile parted her lips as she dreamed. A good dream, he thought. He moved hair away from her face and kissed her. They could not continue to keep their relationship a secret, but he had no solution—not one he wanted.

_A/N: We will be away from internet access until late Saturday or early Sunday--read, enjoy, leave us a note! _


	11. Chapter 11

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 11**

Just before dawn, Grissom woke, realizing that Sara was gone. He smelled coffee and poured a cup, put on his pants, and found Sara wrapped in a blanket on the balcony.

"It's amazing how light changes things." She said as she looked up at him and moved to make space in the chair. The blanket opened and he joined her. They watched as sunlight brought shadows and dimensions and colors to delicately sculpted rock.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She snuggled against his chest and his arm went around her shoulders. "What's wrong, Grissom? You're concerned about something." She lifted her face. "Is it us?"

His hand touched her hair. She was the best investigator on his team, he thought; he should not have been surprised at her question.

"Is it something I've done?" She asked, quietly, a slight tremor in her voice.

Grissom pulled her tightly against him, kissing her hair before she turned her face to his. "No, no. It's nothing."

"Tell me."

His eyes closed; unconsciously, he pinched his nose. "I don't know what to do, Sara."

Sara did not move. Very quietly, she said, "its Ecklie, isn't it." She felt the instant tension in his body.

"He doesn't know anything."

"But if he does, should he find out that we are in a relationship, you are my supervisor." Her voice was a whisper.

He kept his hand in her hair, holding her head against him. He knew what her response would be to what he said. "You could move to another shift."

Her head shook, slowly. "I don't want another supervisor. I want to work with you." She brought a hand to her eyes. He had made this suggestion before with the same result.

"Honey, can we keep this up? There are times—I can not send you into some situations—I can not!" He kept his voice low. "How can I put you in harms way?"

She struggled to turn and face him; her eyes reflected the sun but what he saw was sparks. He knew the firestorm gathering and decided to stop it by placing his mouth against hers. She kissed him back, rising on her knees and cradling his head between her hands. He felt her tongue against his, the taste and smell of strong coffee was intoxicating; the kiss deepened.

They returned to the bed; they did not hurry, but moved as one in a slow waltz of familiar shapes and angles and curves. His chest pressed against her breasts, her smooth cheek against the rough bristle of his jaw, her lips found the hollow of his neck. She had already felt him against her thigh and when she touched him, she felt a light quiver shake his body. Together, they tugged and pushed his pants off and just as quickly, he was hers again.

He was hers, she thought. If she had to travel three hours or three days away from Vegas to have him, she did not care. She would keep quiet, she would ask for nothing, having learned at an early age to control her love for people and things; no one but Gil Grissom would know how much she loved him.


	12. Chapter 12

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 12**

Sara painted her apartment, made it into her own with a few framed prints, and gradually personalized her bedroom—for them. They were happy. She loved the private time with him, cooking foods he had never eaten, finding a book he had not read. One morning he arrived with flowers and she told him plants were so much better—living plants helped the environment and cleaned the air. When he wasn't with her, she ate sporadically, ordered take-out, and waited for him to call. Her life was Grissom.

She touched his cheek one night at a crime scene—frustrations and annoyance had boiled over after hours of physical labor had not found a body. Grissom was seething with anger when she stepped outside; taking his own pulse as she talked. In that minute, her thumb caressed his cheek, startling him so much that he pulled back, rubbing the place in confusion. He found the body; she knew he would.

She noticed a change. Gradually, her assignments kept her in the lab or he gave her the easy uncomplicated cases or she gathered the "easy" evidence. She knew what he was doing; he pretended otherwise and refused to talk about work when they were together.

"Work stays at work." And he changed the subject.

It took another week before she exploded in his office—his ground beef experiment had triggered it, but, afterwards, they both knew it was an accumulation of her frustrations. Her threat to quit was only words; she would not leave him and he knew it. Before he could get to her place, Catherine arrived at his townhouse, uninvited and unannounced, telling him to make things right with Sara.

He secretly smirked as he ordered a plant. Catherine talked to everyone about everything and within hours, the entire lab would know he had asked Sara to stay—professionally, as a caring supervisor.

Two days later, he arrived at Sara's apartment dressed in a suit holding a long bag in his hand.

"Put this on. I think I got it right."

"What's this?" She said as she took the bag.

He looked a little sheepish. "My way of an apology." He unzipped the bag pulling out a long black dress. "We're going on a date!"

Her eyes grew wide and she giggled. "I think we skipped that dating part a while back, Grissom." The dress was made from a slim stretch fabric. She turned it around in her hands.

"The sales lady assured me it would fit. Go—put it on. We've got a place to go."

It did fit—like a second skin. Sara was unsure until she saw Grissom's face break into a smile.

"Where are we going?"

"A surprise—and you won't guess. And you look beautiful."

She handed him the pearl and silver necklace he had given her so he could fasten it around her neck. He said, "You never wear this to work."

"It would be like wearing this dress. It's expensive—everyone would know that."

His eyebrow arched slightly. He wasn't sure he followed her line of logic with the dress and necklace, but he had other things to do.

Grissom drove to a small building in an older part of town, handed keys to a valet while a doorman held the door for them. He held Sara's elbow as they navigated a short dimly lit hallway and entered a darkened room. A woman at the door checked tickets and passed the couple to an usher who showed them to a booth, the type with a C-shaped bench and a small table; candles on each table provided the only light in the room. Grissom gave a request for drinks which quickly appeared.

"It's a private show. I think you will enjoy it."

Stage lights came on and a back-up band moved on stage. Grissom wrapped his arm around Sara's shoulders and took her hand in his. She relaxed against him feeling the warmth of his body slip into her own. She recognized the music before the performer appeared on stage. She squeezed Grissom's hand.

"Do I want to ask how you managed this?" she whispered.

"Someone owed me a favor. Enjoy."

The private show was a final dress rehearsal for this mega-star's upcoming Vegas performance or something like that. He and the band were on stage for over an hour when lights dimmed and the singer disappeared with a bow, saying he would return. Waiters appeared with small plates of food and served each table; Sara realized every table was a private booth—no more than fifty people were in the room.

Sara had heard of these places; very private entertainment clubs where wealthy married men took women who were not their wives or highly paid and well known individuals or couples went when they wanted a night out without flashbulbs and cameras in their faces.

The singer returned and performed for another hour before ending his show. A few people left and only when their waiter returned to ask if they needed anything else did Sara realized just how private this place was. Couples were escorted out just as they had come in; dim lights obscured whoever else might be at this place. There was no one in the short hall when they left and Grissom's car was pulled to the door within minutes.

"What is this place, Grissom?"

He chuckled. "It's been around for years—a place for privacy—total anonymous customers who can not see each other easily. I checked it out with the lights on—it's very clean, very professional."

She laughed at his words. "And for those people having affairs with their boss, right? Or with their neighbor or whoever else—only in Vegas." She rolled her eyes. "You don't have to do that with me, Grissom. I'm fine—eating Chinese out of a box with you."

Grissom had watched her during the performance. She was so young; she looked so beautiful with her hair swept off her neck. She should be enjoying life with others her own age, not sitting here in a place hidden from prying eyes. He needed to talk to her, let her know about Ecklie's interest in her work—not her work, but his suspicions of their relationship. In a recent supervisor's meeting, Ecklie and the under sheriff had spent nearly an hour on personal relationships between employees. Ecklie made a point to look toward Grissom as he snidely stated he would report any offenders immediately.

He drove another mile before pulling over. "Sara, I don't know how to say this…" His fingers came together in a nervous action she recognized.

"Don't." She knew something had changed, even before he took her to Zion, she sensed an apprehension or unease in his behavior, not when they were in bed, that had not changed.

"We need to talk, Sara—about us."

She turned to the window. "Not here, Grissom. Please take me home. Tonight was nice. Thank you."

He drove to her apartment without either saying another word. She was out of the car before he could park it.

"Wait, Sara!" Grissom called as he hurried after her. Catching her elbow, he said, "I wanted a date—I wanted to take you out. I—I don't know what to do. Can we talk—inside?"


	13. Chapter 13

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 13**

He sat on her sofa while she sat on the low table in front of him. She had changed to jeans and a shirt—the expensive black dress lay in a heap on her floor. She knew he had taken a risk—buying her the dress, taking her to this private club tonight—so unlike anything he had done since she moved. She knew by some unknown instinct what he had to say. He held her hands in his as he talked but she heard few actual words.

She knew the dream had to end. Just as the beginning had happened before either had time to think, the ending had slipped in before she was ready. She knew there had been some event, some incident to move him to this point. She knew it was not another woman, not sexual, not a thing she had done or not done; it was work—his lab, his dedication to his first passion, he was her supervisor, the rules, his quiet guilt. He did not say the words in that order, but it was what she heard.

"Sara, you have to get a life outside the lab. You need to get out—do things—not wait for me to call you."

They sat staring at each other; falling in love with him had everything to do with what caused him to say these words. His loyalty, his solitude, his gentle manner she loved. She was not sure they ever belonged to a real world, one with bills to pay and work to be done—this new thought astonished her. There was nothing to be done but to accept his words.

She closed her eyes, wishing him to disappear, but what she saw was his hands, his eyes, the way he touched her when they were alone. She knew how real it all was, how achingly beautiful, and she wanted him.

His voice was deep, softened by a change. He said, "I thought I could do this." He kept his eyes toward the floor. "I honestly thought we could do this."

"I know. Me, too." She sighed but would not look at him. To do so would betray her raw feelings. "I'm sorry."

"Don't—I don't want you to be sorry," he said.

Sara could no longer say a word but some deep, forceful sob escaped her throat and having no control over her eyes, tears poured down her cheeks. Grissom reached out and touched her face, his fingers trying to stop the tears from reaching her chin. "I need—I love you, Sara."

She reached for him, both standing as one, gently taking his face between her hands and kissed him. It took him by surprise as her arms came around to hold him, feeling the tide sweep out, leaving a place open and wet, gorged with deep crevices as water moved the sand away from the shore. Everything in her life came to this point—stretching into emptiness as far as she could see. She left her apartment, walking alone as far as she could, miles she walked. She had not taken anything, not even her keys, but she wanted him to be gone when she returned.

Not until she reversed her track—hours after midnight—did she let herself think. She had moved to Las Vegas to be with him. The work she could have done in San Francisco, but she wanted to be with him; he wanted to be with her. She believed him, one of the few people she had ever trusted completely. When she had cried all the tears she could, her mind cleared.

He never said he did not love her. He never said those words. He said he loved her. She remembered his words. He said he loved her. She fingered the necklace. She would not leave, she would not let him forget San Francisco, or Chicago, or the canyon, she would not let him forget her. She loved him more today than she had loved him six months ago. He might want to forget, he might say he could not be with her, but she would prove him wrong.

Whatever had made him said his words, it would pass. Whatever had been said, what had happened to make him say this to her would eventually pass. She would wait. She retraced her path, thirsty and without a dime in her pocket. She rested on a bus bench, her eyes dry, and almost laughed at herself. At least she was wearing jeans and walking shoes, not a black evening dress and heels, but she would not have walked as far if she had worn those, she thought.

A car slowed and stopped in front of her. She kept her head down; she wanted no police officer to recognize her or some john to try to pick her up. She heard the window slide down.

"Get in, honey."

She recognized his voice—the way he said "Honey", the pet name he called her in moments of quiet togetherness.

"Let's get a veggie burger." Grissom reached to open the door.

Sara got in and fastened her seatbelt before she looked at him. He still wore his suit. "I took a walk," she said.

"Drive thru okay?" he asked. She nodded.

They ended up in his townhouse, eating veggie burgers, and talking until sunrise. He talked, she listened and she heard his concerns about cases and workload, and for the first time, he told her about his parents' health—his father's sudden death, his mother's hearing loss. She stayed curled beside him as he talked as if a switch had been flipped and he had to say words long hidden and locked away. Her hands laced with his across his chest.

Last, he talked about work. He told her what Jim Brass had said to him weeks ago, his own concern about Ecklie's behavior—he named it curiosity.

"Honey, you need something outside of work—not waiting for me. I play with my bugs. I go to cockroach races—sometimes." He felt her giggle before he heard it. "Well, maybe not so much anymore."

She sat up to look at him. "You are just like me, Grissom. You do nothing but work! But you want me to get a life—you work and see me. Why can't we just keep doing this? No one needs to know."

He pulled her back against his chest. "Do this for me. Please. Find someone—not Nick, not Warrick, not anyone in the lab—what was the name of the EMT who asked about you? There are others who give you a look—I see how they look at you—go to a movie, eat with someone other than the team." He kept his arm wrapped around her. "Just do this for me."

"I don't care about doing something else. I'll wait for you."

This time he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. The woman was obstinate. He tried another approach.

"Remember when I took Teri Miller to dinner? I think I remember you having a good laugh about her disappearance or my smelly clothes, not sure which. What I did not tell you was I made sure Catherine knew that I had a 'date' with Teri. You need to do the same—unless you are willing to move to another shift, to take our relationship public."

"No." She was adamant, as she had been anytime he broached the subject. "I want to work with you. We'll be fine. We'll be careful." She had picked up his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. "I'll go to a movie. I'll eat with someone. But I'll want you—I'll come here afterwards." She had placed her head against his shoulder where she seemed to fit so perfectly. "Grissom, I don't want to go back to that private club. I—I don't mean it wasn't nice; it was. I really enjoyed hearing and seeing the performance. I don't want us to be guilty—we are not married to anyone else. I'll do what you want—if I can see you."

He knew he could not refuse her simple request. Her brown eyes were those of simple innocence. He kissed her. "Okay, we'll keep eating Chinese food from a carton."


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: There are probably 6-8 more chapters for this one (longer than we anticipated)! We are hoping to post all chapters before December 21--so keep reading! Thanks for all the reviews and comments._

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 14**

Work was unrelenting for days. Crime seemed to sprout like mushrooms after a rain—more tourists brought more criminals. A minor law breaker in Tulsa found treasure in Las Vegas, hitting the jackpot by mugging unsuspecting visitors. Jumpers increased so rapidly that the city was becoming the suicide capitol of the country. Grissom's workload seemed to double overnight.

Their routine was anything but predictable, yet he called, and she would appear, slipping quietly into his vehicle or walking to his townhouse. She left a few things at his place, a toothbrush, a few personal things, and a change of clothing; all neatly placed in a drawer at bedside. She might fall asleep in his arms, but no longer be there when he woke. She had a key but never visited his house unless he was there. His visits to her apartment became less frequent unless it was her day off and she cooked.

Grissom counted the hours until he could leave knowing she had spent the night waiting for him. Neither looked at the other as a trophy or property to put on display; their privacy was an obsession. He worried; she seldom voiced her own concerns.

It was a death at a hockey rink that put the two on the same case after weeks of separate cases. Their contact had been limited to bending over the evidence table—exhaustion, overtime, required meetings for Grissom kept them apart more than together. Twice Grissom arrived at her apartment to be called back to work within thirty minutes.

Sara adapted. Her entire life had been one of adjusting to others; this was no difference. She worked when Grissom did, sometimes longer and harder. She anticipated his needs, usually before he did, and a raised eyebrow, a hint of a smile would be her reward. Sara had never been special to anyone, but she was to Grissom. She knew his unspoken fear—someone would learn their secret. She was careful.

Grissom would arrive at her apartment, often unannounced and unexpected. When she told him she was going to a movie with the EMT, he waited in her parking lot, angry with the guy who had not bothered to pick her up. She leaned against her car and snickered as he vented—not saying what he really wanted to say, just calling the guy a dog.

"No, that's not right. A dog has better manners!"

"Grissom," she said. Hearing his name stopped him. "Come inside." She did not touch him as she opened the door.

"I can't stay."

Sara heated soup, cut up fruit and cheese and placed it before him. "Are you eating?" she asked. Her hand touched his chin. "What did the specialist say about your hearing?"

He shook his head. "Genetic, like my mother."

"What can be done?"

His eyes dropped.

"Grissom, what did she say?"

"I canceled the appointment."

"Why? You know surgery is an option. If you want, I can go with you."

His eyes shot back to her. "No, no, I'll take care of it."

"Will you stay?"

He refused, citing too much work, fatigue, an early call, when it was actually frustration with himself.

Sara gave him time to drive home and called. "I'm walking over."

The change in Grissom's behavior had been subtle, noticeable only to her. At work he was irritable, short-tempered for no reason. He would schedule her to work with everyone else, rarely him. Privately, he was as passionate as ever—no, not true, she thought. Some part of him was missing. She realized he was losing his hearing by accident—his music got louder, his voice softer, he asked her to repeat words. She adapted by turning his music down when others were in the room, by standing in front of him, or getting his attention before speaking.

Grissom opened his door before she reached it. "Thanks," he said.

She dropped a small bag. "I can to stay."

He nodded and pulled her into his arms. In the privacy of his bedroom, in the cool darkness of the coming day, they found each other. Each remembered and awakened passion, his lips against her neck, touches in intimate places, and finally the sweeping emotions that came as waves pushed and pulled and swept them into a whirlpool that threatened to suck both into an abyss. Only the basic need to breathe brought one, then the other to release the physical bond holding them together.

"Sara, do you know how much you mean to me?" he asked, keeping her close against him in that time she named "the most intimate space."

They slept for hours.

Grissom watched as she dressed to leave. "I'm no better than Hank."

Her head popped out above the pullover, a smile on her face. "No comparison. I don't sleep with him." She realized how serious he looked. "Why is this so complicated?" She sat down on the bed beside him.

"You know how we can solve this. Just say the word. I'll transfer; I don't have to supervise."

Sara said "I want to work with you—that's the second reason I moved to Vegas. You are ten times better at what you do than the other supervisors—you are not stepping down because of me." This was a one-sided conversation he had heard from her for months. "I don't want to be the center of lab gossip. I don't want everyone to think you hired me because I'm your—your—whatever."

"Lover."

"Yeah."


	15. Chapter 15

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 15**

Grissom compartmentalized—work, health, Sara—he could do this. He would do this. Ten, fifteen hours, often more, spent working left him little time to do much.

Sara did as he wanted. She found an agreeable, non-demanding companion in Hank Pettigrew. More random than planned, the two met to eat or see a movie. She never invited him to her apartment; he never asked. Nick and Warrick seemed relieved she had finally found a date. Greg was jealous.

Grissom's hearing worsened, surgery his only option, almost always successful, but needed to be done soon. His doctor outlined the procedure and scheduled a date, outpatient, quick recovery. He could do this—work, health, Sara.

Sara could seduce him without trying. Seeing her laugh with Nick or sharing a story with Greg was enough to irritate him. He would purposely interrupt whatever was happening just because he could. He knew Greg made her laugh, Nick teased her, and Warrick—he was actually pleased with Sara's relationship with Warrick. After an uneasy start, the two were friends. Privately, she teased Grissom about Warrick being the favorite, the teacher's pet.

Grissom meant his words when he told her they must be careful, he was the one who could not stay away. Like a moth to a flame, he thought.

A model found in a shopping cart brought them together on a case. He wandered the area habituated by homeless when he found Sara, standing alone in solitary thought. He realized how much he missed working with her, her processing of thoughts leaping ahead of physical evidence. When she figured out the code for the diary, everyone sat in stunned silence when she finished her explanations. In his mind, he thought, "the girl is a genius." And seeing the faces on the others, they also realized it.

He had noticed a change in who wanted to work with Sara. She rarely made a mistake; even Catherine asked for her. He missed her quiet thinking moments, the playful teasing and bantering, her rapid grasp of facts. It suddenly came to him how her thoughts and words were an extension of his own.

He had once wanted her to be a graft onto his own body but she was so much more. She was becoming a strong, independent figure capable of standing on her own.

Later, Grissom would realize it was this case that changed them. Sara was smart; she could solve a puzzle, figure out complex issues faster and better than he could.

An odd case, a pop-culture guy accused of a double murder, brought his team in front of lawyers that caused a butterfly effect to an eventual turning in their relationship. Neither expected a moment weeks earlier to be mentioned in a courtroom. Sara awkwardly groped for an answer. Another question about her relationship with Hank Pettigrew caused a complete freeze; she stumbled a response, her face flaming.

"I need a day away, Grissom." She never asked for a day off.

His head came up from his paperwork. She looked like a child asking permission.

"I'm sorry about the hearing."

He waved a hand. "Take off—you were fine. Do something you enjoy."

That night, he called her in. He did want her there at a moments notice.

_A/N: Reminder, this one will have 20-22 chapters and we are planning to post all by Dec. 21/22. Enjoy!_


	16. Chapter 16

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 16**

Grissom learned to cook the foods Sara liked to eat. He kept his experiments out of his refrigerator. If she mentioned a book, he found a copy. When she showed him a kitchen herb garden, he ordered one and had it sitting on his counter when she arrived one morning. He pretended to be busy when her eyes begin to tear up and she swiped a hand across her face.

Later, when she kissed him, ran her fingers in his hair; she whispered her thanks for his gift. It was such simple words, but in her husky voice, magnified a thousand times. He did not do enough for her.

He woke to find her warm body curled into that place she fit so perfectly. She had stayed with him instead of returning to her apartment. His fingers woke her. She stirred and smiled. He kissed her shoulder and worked his way to her ear, her eye, her nose, and found her mouth. The sensual warmth of her tongue against his pulled him above her. His hand had already found her most intimate place; she pulled him to her with a caress against his leg. Neither had to say a word as bodies heated and came together, both surprised at the desire generated by waking with each other. They lay tangled in arms and legs, sheets and pillows, with breathing returning to normal.

Sara was placing light repeated kisses against his jaw when he said "You know we could get married." He felt every muscle in her body tense for a second before she relaxed again. Her kisses stopped, then started again.

He heard his cell phone buzz, and vibrate against the wooden surface of the bedside table. As soon as it quieted, his land phone rang.

Sara reached for the cell phone. "You'll need to answer—you are early tonight." Her voice gave no indication of what he had said.

Quietly, Grissom said, "You heard me."

"Yes."

"And."

She raised herself with her crooked arm, one finger stroked his face; her face glowed with the satisfaction of contentment. Her dark hair fell across his face. "I do love you, Gil. I really do—never doubt that." She kissed him. "I—I don't think I'm the marrying kind." She gave him a brief smile, "Thank you saying that."

They worked together on the murder of a child that became a multiple murder when a body was found in a park. Sara worked all day and into the night on the case. She did not mention their time in his bed.

Grissom's reaction was unexpected. He was unable to put into thoughts and words the effect of Sara's quiet response. He had never said the words before, not to anyone, and the one woman he wanted in his life had told him she wasn't the marrying kind. He watched her work doing exactly what she always did, showing no sign of what had passed between them. She had just added another level of difficulty to the puzzle of Sara Sidle.

Sara knew he was confused by her response but she said nothing. He did not know her history and even if he loved her, wanted to marry her, she could not tell him that her mother had killed her father, that her parent's marriage had been one of fighting and bruises and hidden scars, frequent emergency room visits, and a frightened little girl. He did not want to know her history—she did not want him to know. And to keep history from repeating, she had made the decision never to marry.

She returned to his house and quietly made love to him as he returned her passion.

Within days two cases disrupted their carefully built relationship, toppling their privately held beliefs that what they had together was enough.

Grissom entered the dominion of Lady Heather for a second time. This woman was different from any other woman he had ever been around. She was mystifying, an enigma, a woman with a past so far removed from the familiar, yet so similar in looks to Sara, that he discovered his own precarious core unbalanced. Lady Heather stood too close to him violating his personal space, demanding his eyes follow her, touching his arm in an intimate method that would have been harmless if done by anyone else.

His hands touched her face; for a moment, it was Sara's face he saw, and he backed away trying to conceal his shock at what had almost happened with this unusual and extraordinary woman. He recovered his balance; she gently laughed and stepped away. She was good at what she did, he thought. She knew he was discombobulated in her presence.

He left her house but her hand in his at the door invited him to return. "Before your work and mine begins; let us talk— civilized and without expectations and liability."

Grissom did return and in tentative steps, they began a rare kind of friendship seldom found between male and female, certainly uncommon between a woman in her business and a man in his. A suspicious coincidence relating to a crime nearly stopped the association before their next conversation; but his curiosity, his inquisitiveness made him see her again.

Sara adapted to this odd relationship as she had done all her life. She was interested in Lady Heather, but to voice her thoughts would be to pry into a part of Grissom's life that might open up her own past. She listened but asked few questions. He would talk about the business of Heather Kessler and when she ventured to ask, he insisted he had no interest in participating in a world of hurt and wounds and bondage.

"One needs to be happy in love." He smiled as he said those words.

A car crash into a popular eatery brought Sara face-to-face with the double life she was leading. It made her step back, almost losing her own balance, when she realized that Hank, her easy-going dinner and movie companion, had his own long-time lover. Even Catherine knew Sara's stability was threatened when she offered Sara an after work drink.

With Grissom, she made no demands, just stated "I won't be 'dating' anyone else. I have work and I have you."


	17. Chapter 17

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 17**

The lab explosion did not just destroy equipment and evidence; it shattered Grissom professionally and personally. It was his shift, his long-time friend who set the explosive inside the hood, his tech who was seriously injured, and, most of all, his Sara who was bleeding, sitting alone on the curb, and worried about the lab.

In that second, seeing her face, holding her hand, saying "Honey, this doesn't look good" and getting help for her, he knew she was the most important part of his life—until the sheriff walked up, and the professional Grissom, lab supervisor, returned to the other critical aspect of his life. He returned to work.

Sara was alone, abandoned in an ambulance—she looked up and Grissom was entering the building. Her hand was wrapped by a gentle stranger who assured her in a voice she remembered from childhood saying everything was going to be fine. She kept expecting Grissom to return and when he didn't, when her hand was stitched, she returned to work. Later, she went to sleep on her sofa expecting Grissom to call—and when he did not, she worked her shift, entered a room before it was cleared with her gun in hand and had the fury of Brass and Grissom crash on her head—even Nick commented on her brainless action.

For hours Grissom had no time to think as he tried to put the lab back together. Everyone worked; he worked harder. He was nearly asleep on his feet when Brass called him about Sara. His first thought was she was working with an injury; his second thought was he had not seen her since the explosion. Nick came in asking about Sara, why was she working with an injury and why was she entering a room before it had been checked.

He was exhausted as he flipped through cards, finding the physician's address. He had to schedule surgery; his hearing loss was interfering with his job. Much of the time, he had been unable to hear what people were saying in the confusion surrounding the lab explosion. He had made a late appointment; the doctor had personally called to remind him of the importance of the surgery.

The shadow across his door belonged to Sara. "You got a minute." She tried to smile.

"I was just leaving."

She did not move, saying "Yeah, the schedule says you're off tonight."

"I am."

Sara smiled, "Me, too."

Grissom removed his glasses and slipped them into a pocket. He moved toward her. "You should be on paid leave." His hand indicated hers.

"I'm fine."

He wanted to shake her. She was not fine. Her hand had required stitches. She had pulled her gun. "You were fortunate and I'm not talking about the explosion."

Sara dropped her head then raised her face to his. "You talked to Brass."

"And Nick."

She asked him to eat with her. He was unsure of her meaning, and said no because of his appointment.

"Sara—I don't know what to do about—this." His eyes clouded. There was so much he needed to say to her.

"I do—you know, by the time you figure it out, you really could be too late." She turned to leave as he turned out the office lights.

He followed her to her car trying to calm the rising fear in his own brain, trying to decipher her words. He chose to ignore them.

"Sara."

She stopped.

"I have an appointment—with the ear surgeon." His hand grazed his face. "I—I don't know what to do. I don't know what's going to happen. You—the lab—Greg…" his hand swiped his face. "My appointment is in fifteen minutes."

She saw an exhausted man, one who always controlled every aspect of life. Today—the past hours—had not been easy. And he was losing his hearing. She had watched as he struggled to keep another secret from the workplace. Her eyes softened and she smiled.

"Go to your appointment. I'll fix dinner at your place. I'll wait."


	18. Chapter 18

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 18**

His surgery was successful, restoring his hearing ability to a level well above what he remembered. Work—health—Sara, his life was as he wanted with few disruptions, with few interruptions. He could list on one hand how his life could be better—to have Sara move in with him, to keep her working with him, to have more time with her—each one came back to work. He spent too much time in the lab, he obsessed over little events, he took on more work, he clashed with Ecklie again, and Nick and Sara deserved promotions.

There was no plan, no statement, no argument or action that kept them apart. It just happened—Grissom made an unplanned trip to see his mother, Sara worked overtime and doubles, so exhausted by the end of shift that all she could do was place her key in the lock and fall into bed.

An incident with a bloody sheet made both realize the extent of their separation—Sara was acutely aware of how near she came to kissing him, right in the lab, in front of whoever was around. She asked a pitiable question about her promotion application. He faltered with words as both tried to regain composure.

Grissom found her sleeping in the break room, her head lying on an open book. He shook her awake. "Go home, Sara."

She rubbed her eyes. "I thought you might need me."

Sara waking up always made him smile. "I do—but not now. Go home. Rest. I'll call you."

He did not call that day or the next. Work kept him from Sara. Days would go by and he would realize he had not seen her except in passing. Paperwork crossed his desk for her annual review; he was stunned to see the date of her hire—could it really be that many years since she came to Vegas?

Sara had found her own way of living in Las Vegas. She was not a gambler or party girl, preferring the natural wilderness areas away from the city where she often found a spot to call her own. Nick, Warrick, and Greg became her friends sharing many aspects of typical close knit work places.

She lived for work and Grissom. Work would keep him away from her until she thought she would go mad without his touch. Her eyes would plead with him to give her one afternoon, a few hours away from work, to return to the passionate desire generated between them in the bright, sunny days before crime exploded in Las Vegas.

A murdered nurse, who took his breath because she looked like Sara, became the catalyst for change. Grissom knew before he cleared the house—he was determined to change how he lived. When the man he knew had murdered the girl and her boyfriend rose to leave, his exhausted mind clicked into overdrive. He had a clear vision of what his life was becoming, fearing he had already lost a valuable part because of his commitment to work instead of the woman he loved. His words formed and rolled from his mouth as he made the comparison. He could, he would change. He had no reason to think Sara heard every word.

They counted passing time as cases were solved or turned cold. Separately, without mentioning what was said and heard, they thought about his words to Dr. Lurie. Grissom had placed life on hold and his relationship with Sara in a closet. His uncertainty caused him to hesitate.

Grissom was asleep when she opened the door. He had not made it to his bed but was sleeping in a recliner. She had not entered his house unless he extended an invitation in months. The place had not changed since the first time she came to Las Vegas. The blinds were open and the sun blazed into the room reflecting against white walls. She quietly closed the door and listened to him sleep—quiet rhythmic breathing that brought back memories.

A small motel room on the California coast.

An expensive hotel in Chicago.

Her old apartment with no air conditioning in San Francisco.

She remembered private moments, watching him smile, his face above hers as he came to know her in intimate ways no one had ever known. She wanted to pull him back in time to that place.

He shifted and opened his eyes. Sara thought her memories had caused him to wake. She saw confusion in his face.

"You're here." He said as if she had been gone a few minutes.

Sara smiled but said nothing.

He sat up. "What are you doing here?"

Sara lifted the bag in her hand. "I brought breakfast—coffee." Before he could say anything, she continued, "Gil—I want to be here, with you." She was at least five feet from him when he stood up.

His hand stretched toward her and he smiled. "I missed you," he said. His hand touched her chin as he kissed her, knowing they had both changed.


	19. Chapter 19

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 19**

Tentative, hesitant, and cautious could describe the process of rebuilding their relationship—they had never "broken up" or even separated, they had slowly grown apart while seeing each other every day. They had never stopped their physical relationship; some times weeks would pass before Grissomwould call and she came to his bed. Sara would spend an off day preparing a meal, waiting for him to arrive after his shift. She surprised him by carefully decorating her bedroom for him—not feminine or frilly, but not the stark darkness of his own.

"Close your eyes." She giggled—he had not heard that sound in months. Her cool fingers pressed against his lids. "Don't peek." She said as she walked behind him. She released his eyes and slipped a hand into his.

Weeks—no months had passed since he was in her bedroom. "Beautiful," he said. But he wasn't looking at the room.

Her fingers were on the buttons of his shirt; pushing him onto the bed with its new coverlet and pillows, lots of those, he thought. His shoes were off and she tugged his shirt free.

"Let me." She moved his hands away from his belt.

Their time was planned—no phones in the bedroom, blinds and curtains closed against the sun, water placed at the bedside. Their desire heightened by absence or nearness or forbidden touches and secret looks stroked their passion. A fast and furious want necessitated the speed in bringing both to that ultimate release of passion. Breathing slowed but neither wanted to let go.

Grissom's hands moved along her spine. "How did we lose this, Sara?"

She lay stretched across him, her legs wrapped around his, her head against his chest feeling melted to his flesh. "We didn't—it's always been with us. Things got in the way."

She moved bringing her lips to his jaw; her tongue tickled his ear. She knew he grinned. She continued kissing, tasting, and teasing as she progressed from ear to chin to chest and following an invisible line. The heat generated by her action created another rise in passion; she heard a groan and felt his hand in her hair.

Sara slipped like water between his hands, his legs, around his chest and into his body. The only woman he ever wanted to share his life had become so much a part of him that he could no longer imagine a day without her. Spent and relaxed, ready for sleep, they curled around each other as two puzzle pieces appearing as one.

Grissom remained awake until he felt her soft breathing against his neck. He had made a decision—he would change. He drifted to sleep keeping Sara in his arms where he wanted her.

"I'm changing," he announced. He placed another pancake on her plate.

"How?" She asked as she forked another bite into her mouth. She was hungry and eating almost as fast as he could pour and flip.

"I'm going to work less, spend more time with you."

Her eyes were wide with surprise. She said "I haven't asked for that."

"I know. I want to do it."

He placed pancakes on his plate and sat across the table from her. "I think it's time. I want you to think about something." She looked up, placing her fork on her plate. He continued, "Think about moving in with me."

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Sara—we can't stay the same! We've been together how long? I—we need more." He watched as she dropped her eyes. "Look at me, Sara."

"Grissom, don't promise anything."

His hand flexed once before he reached for her hand. "Sara—this is difficult…"

"Don't say any more."

"Don't be upset. This is not what I intended."

She tried to stand but he refused to let go of her hand. "I'm not going to let you go," he said.

Tears had formed in her eyes as he came around the table, pulling her to him. "Don't cry." He remembered the time she had left him in her apartment. He spent hours driving around the city looking for her. "I want more, Sara. More time with you. I want to make promises. I want to be there—I want you with me."

He held her as she cried silent tears, no loud sobbing, none of the myriad of sounds one associates with sadness, just copious tears, soaking his shirt after he gave up trying to wipe her face. Some intuition told him these were not tears of anguish; she was not sad or angry, but she was not jubilant either. Puzzled, and sensing a slowing of added moisture against his shirt, he reached for a paper towel and used it to wipe her eyes and face.

"Am I that bad?" He wanted to make her smile, to see her eyes brighten.

Sara shook her head and placed it against his shoulder. He felt her sigh, but no more tears came. He kept arms around her, one hand cradling her head. She cleared her throat and began to speak in a whisper, made raspy by crying.

"I've always known—from the very first time you touched me—all I ever wanted was you."

In that moment, Gil Grissom's heart ached; tears filled his eyes. He blinked rapidly as he kissed her. Why were words so difficult for him? Why could he speak words to a stranger, a killer, yet found it impossible to say words of love to the woman who was the emotional center of his life?

Change did not occur easily or as an overnight miracle for either. He tangled with Ecklie, the sheriff, the undersheriff, the press. Brass caught on to Sara's early morning beer drinking—even though she did it only occasionally, only when Grissom was working, or when she was out with Nick or Warrick or both, not ever enough to be drunk. Until she was not recommended for promotion—Grissom told her she wanted it too much in his abrupt, no nonsense manner. She would never raise a hand against another human, but that day, in the enclosed car looking for evidence, she clinched her teeth and her hand around the bottle to keep from throwing it across the floor.

Late the next night, she managed to congratulate Nick on his "almost promotion" and downed three beers in minutes, on an empty stomach, drove her car out of the garage, very slowly along the street, being very careful—to careful for the cop who pulled her over.

Grissomwas the one who came. She asked for Catherine to be called, but it had to be her supervisor. He drove her home—to his home, fed her soup and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and talked about the Coombs brothers. Not until she had showered, pulled an old soft tee shirt over her head, and crawled into his bed did he talk about what had happened.

He sat on the bed pressing his fingers together as he talked. A note would be placed in her file—temporary—for six months. She would have to see a counselor. No one else had to know. It was the first time he had talked to her as her supervisor away from work.

Sara could barely bring her eyes to his face. Embarrassment, humiliation, shame, all the depressing and angry emotions associated with her stupid act rolled through her.

"Thank you" were the only words she could say as he tucked her in and before she fell asleep, she heard him talking to someone about bugs on a body. When she got up, hours later, she found her clothes, folded and smelling fresh from the laundry, along with a note "gone to Pahrump". Her keys were with her clothes, her car in his driveway.


	20. Chapter 20

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 20**

Ecklie was made assistant director—ever the politician, the self-promoter, a consummate bureaucrat. Every employee in the lab drew a troubled breath, none more deeply than Grissom. An incompetent supervisor, more impressed with paperwork than in process, Ecklie divided Grissom's team, putting Catherine on swing with Nick and Warrick, pulling Sophia to grave with Sara and Greg. Grissom knew he got the best three and breathed easier knowing he would have Sara near him every shift and for most cases.

The change interrupted personal lives as well. Just as the two were opening doors, bringing laughter back into private moments, Ecklie's disruptive management style kept Grissom in the lab, called him in early or had him in some meeting. Ecklie was constantly checking work—not that he would recognize good or poor technique. All he wanted was results that closed cases—fast, publicly.

As accidental assignment, knowing Sara had worked with Teri Miller, he passed her to Catherine because of a destroyed face. He did not consider the why—why were two women covered in tar—when he handed out cases that night.

Sara did a great job on the face reconstruction, so near perfection, that identification was established in a few days instead of weeks. A hallway discussion overheard by Ecklie led to Sara's suspension—within minutes it reached Grissom. Catherine came first; he dismissed her ranting as a simple misunderstanding between two opinionated investigators, something forgotten in a few hours. It wasn't.

Ecklie joined her, slamming the office door, spewing venomous words, bringing Sara's personnel folder, throwing three old complaints on Grissom's desk, finding the note about Sara's alcohol test. Finally accusing Grissom of protecting Sara from previous administrative action—when Ecklie said "terminate", Grissom stood and walked out of the room, leaving Ecklie in mid-sentence and Catherine with an open mouth.

For seven years he had known about her parents. Seven years it had taken for her to tell him how her father died, why she and her mother felt no kinship, no bond of mother-daughter. Years of anger and heartbreak poured out as she related the story of a young girl watching her father die by her mother's hand. She cried, sobbed tears of sorrow and loneliness and rage, of a lost childhood, a secret history.

When she was finished, cried dry, she said "I'm sorry."

"For what, Sara?"

"For telling you this. I—I've never told anyone. It's not something you want to know. I'm sorry."

He remained quiet for several minutes, keeping her hand in his. Gently, he pulled her into his arms.

"Sara, all I've ever wanted—you are." He held her until she lifted her face to his.

"I've wanted to tell you so many times, but I was afraid."

His hands came to her face; she felt his thumbs move gently across her cheeks. His blue eyes changed as she watched a light reflect in them before realizing he was smiling.

He said, "There will be times I ignore you, forget you are waiting, leave you alone, but never be afraid to tell me—anything. Understand?"

He nodded and put her head against his shoulder where she knew she belonged. "Grissom, what about Ecklie? He still wants to fire me."

He chuckled. "He won't. I'll threaten to quit."

Her head popped up. "You can't do that."

"I won't have to." He pulled her back into a hug. "Let's eat—do you have food?"

The cooked their best quick meal—eggs, fruit, and cheese—while he kept one hand on her, a calm, reassuring touch that all was well between them in a turbulent world. He stayed and they talked as needed, not about work, not about her revealed history, but about books and music, travel—the rainforest and the pyramids. The world of work and crime and evidence seemed far away in their private space.

Without forethought or plans or purpose, the lovers stretched fully clothed across her bed; he with a book and Sara with a desire to hear his soothing voice as he read a five hundred year old comedy of star-crossed lovers, feuding families and timeless passion. He knew it was her favorite. Before he finished Act Two, before the men decided the fate of Benedict and Beatrice, she rolled to kiss him.

Grissom's hand slipped underneath her shirt as he deepened the kiss. The book fell to the floor at some point—neither noticed.

_A/N: Three more chapters until this one concludes. Enjoy!_


	21. Chapter 21

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 21**

Sara returned to work. No one actually said it, but everyone knew she had been right about the husband and she never apologized to Catherine. Most days, Grissom picked her up on his way to work and no one seemed to notice that where one was, the other was near.

After work, Grissom stayed at her apartment to sleep, to eat, to love her until he noticed an uneasy restlessness in Sara. He learned she needed quiet isolation—he had the same need at times—to be able to think, to place life in an orderly sequence. He stopped asking her to live with him; most of the time when she stayed with him, she would walk home before he woke. Both settled into a routine, welcomed, normal, ordinary, after working the unusual and bizarre crimes of Las Vegas.

He stayed with her, sleeping soundly after finding her waiting for him, loving her was easy—he thought of an old country song anytime he heard that phrase, and he wasn't a big fan, never purposely listened to country music, but he remembered that line. The cool sheets told him she had been gone for some time. He pulled on sweatpants and his tee shirt before finding her, drinking tea in her living room.

"Hey."

"I'm coming back." She got up, approaching him.

"What's going on, Sara?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I'm fine."

He wrapped arms around her. "Tell me, honey. Why do you leave a bed where we are warm? Why do you so rarely stay with me?"

"Do you have dreams, Grissom?"

He laughed quietly. "Sure I do—sometimes they kick my butt, but you are the one who said most dreams never come true."

She looked at him and smiled. "I did, didn't I?"

"Tell me."

She looked at him with wide-eyed vulnerability of a child. He would almost name it fear, but reasonable, intelligent Sara knew that dreams were not real. She said, "Most of the time it's someone asking for something. I can't reach them in time—their hand is just out of reach—like there is glass between us and my fingers will not reach them in time."

"It's a dream, Sara. Brought on by stress, working too much, too long."

"It does help being with you."

He kissed her, embracing her as passionately as he had ever done. His tongue found hers, telling her without words that she had his attention; giving her whatever she needed—peace, hope, passion, life. He lifted her off the floor as she wrapped legs around him and he carried her back to bed.

The silky robe fell away and he touched her smooth skin causing her to shudder, her hands holding his head. After a few seconds, she said, "Stop!" She giggled.

He moved to his side, a smile on his face. "I haven't heard that sound in months," he whispered. She said his name.

"Gil." And kissed him. He tried to say something, but her lips touched his every time his mouth opened. "I need you." Her body pressed against his and her hands moved until he moaned.

Later, much later when he looked at her clock, he knew they had both slept. Sara was warm and against his body, a tentative smile trying to curl her lips. He cared not that she was sleeping. He pressed his lips against hers. Her eyes flickered open.

He smiled as her brown eyes focused. "I want to be the first thing you see when you open your eyes." He said.

She smiled, a broad face changing grin. "I'll always see you, Gil."

Grissom touched her nose with a kiss. "Sara, I want you to think about something." He wrapped an arm around her. He knew she could move faster than a bee in flight. "Okay?" She didn't move. "Would you think about buying a place—with me?"

Her eyes got bigger but she did not move.

He hurried. "We could look around, find a place with enough space for both of us. You could decorate it. Just think about it."

She remained still for so long he was almost afraid to speak. He said, "We could get a dog." Later he would question how or why he came up with that one.

"A dog? I've never had a dog. I think I would like that."

He breathed again. A dog—all it took was a dog. He smiled. She would get her dog—their dog. As soon as they found a house. He kissed her again. She smiled.

Nothing was ever as easy or as effortless as words made it seem.

Grissom's own selfishness took both to the mental hospital. He wanted her to work with him. The case should have been a slam-dunk, locked unit with a finite number of suspects. When he saw Sara on the floor with a shank to her throat, their life passed before him in an instant. The door was locked—they had just found each other again—open the door—get her safe—please open the door—paralyzed with fear. She was out of the room, running down the corridor, telling him calmly that she would continue the case. Mentally, he had to tie his own hands to keep from touching her, holding her; her own resolve rising about his needs.

Grissom actually got Sara to look at houses, a few larger townhouses, a loft development in an older building. He would let her enter each place first, touching surfaces, checking out the bathrooms, walking around tiny backyards. He would watch as she turned and smiled, never the perfect place, and he refused to rush her. At least she had agreed to live together—one day.

Nick was kidnapped, buried and found alive. Those hours were a jumble in all their minds when they pieced it together. Grissom nearly getting blown to pieces, Sam Braun giving money to Catherine because she asked, finding the explosives before pulling Nick from the ground. Afterwards, they sat in stunned silent relief that all survived.

Sara knew how seriously the kidnapping affected Grissom. In what appeared to be a random snatch, he realized it could have been any of them. She stayed with him for a week; every night they worked together; every morning she held him as he tried to sleep, made love to him so he could sleep, and read to him when both were afraid to sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 22**

Sara found a place. Not a house but an empty shell in a new development, one of those new planned communities with storefronts along walkways and housing above with private entrances on another street, garages below for owners, outside parking for guests, a dog walk and a park, a grocery store and a post office. It was a ten minute drive to the lab. The contractor met with them as she drew out a plan. Grissom was impressed.

"I need my space, Griss." She smiled as she pointed to three areas. "Mine. Yours. Ours." Ours was a large open living room, a kitchen and dining area.

"What about the bathroom? Can't we share the bathroom?"

The contractor made another drawing. They liked it. She had ideas and Grissom agreed. The contractor and builder took her designs and notes and fitted empty walls with bookcases and desks. Space was turned into bedrooms and Grissom's office; another area became Sara's—uncluttered, bright with high windows. They completed their house and worked for more weeks to turn it into their home.

Grissom did not care that she created her own bedroom—at least the bathrooms connected the two sleeping rooms. And he knew where she was when he woke and his bed was cold. Sometimes he stood in the middle of their house amazed that it had taken so long to get to this point. Sara would be in the kitchen, turn and find him watching her. She would laugh, smile, flick water in his direction. Grissom knew his life was good; loving Sara was easy.

For the first time in her life, Sara had a home. She surprised Grissom—she would buy a lamp and place it on a table where it seemed to belong. Her idea for bookcases served a purpose as she put books together, pulled his objet d'art and favorite pieces from boxes and found a place for them on shelves. Her style was unusual but came together in a home that reflected their interests; she even found a way to display some of his insects and butterflies.

She made his bedroom much like his previous one—a dark oasis for sleeping. She put few of her personal items in his space. Her room became a place of escape; nothing to remind her of work, but everything to create a comfortable and welcoming retreat. But she never called it "my room", it was their second bedroom and Grissom came to her as often as she went to him. The rooms suited their purpose; and no one at work seemed to notice how often they arrived together or how he brought her lunch or how she seemed to know his whereabouts. Sara was happy.

She found herself smiling for no reason. The day before, she had called him from her bedroom saying "I need you."

In seconds, he appeared in the doorway, holding the phone and laughing.

Passion between them could flame in seconds. Hearing her invite him into her bed was all he needed. She touched his hair, kissed his closed eyes, and took pleasure from him. His passion was as furious as hers. As men have thought for thousands of years, Grissom knew this woman had been put on earth for him and thought of rising waves around him. She was the warm ocean moving with his command, yet it was her control, her direction, her unending quest that got him here, to this place.

"I've waited for you all my life, Sara. To be here, with you, I'm happy." He smiled and traced her chin, her lips, her nose with fingertips before seeking her lips with his.

She would know his touch the rest of her life, the warmth of his hands, the heat of his body. Grissom's eyes closed in after-sex drowsiness while she lay awake, not understanding completely how he could sleep so quickly and at the same time, feeling she was his protector while he slept. She watched him knowing she was content.

Their quiet cocoon was torn apart within hours when Jim Brass was shot. Grissom had to make decisions for emergency treatment; he had to talk with Ellie Brass. Later, in the cream and sage colored bed, he talked about dying, seeing the rainforest, and playing in a chest tournament.

Sara unbuttoned his blue silk shirt, placed kisses behind each button, and stopped him from thinking about how he wanted to die.

"Live, Gil, we want to live."

------

_A/N: One more chapter and an epilogue to this one which we will post later today or tomorrow! Enjoy!_


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N: This is a long one to conclude this last installment in "A Few Days" series! We hope you enjoyed it, leave us a note. And we thank our granma who suggested some of this and always believed in Sara and Gil!_

**A Few Days at a Time Chapter 23 and Epilogue**

Grissom had not forgotten the implied promise made months ago. Sara often pointed to a furry four-legged pet saying "that one looks like us." But a new house, adjusting to each other, work, and the sudden death of his mother postponed the actual completion of that promise. He expressed guilt after burying his mother and clearing her house.

"We did not visit enough, Sara. We should see your mother more than once a year." His hands touched her shoulders as she turned her face to his.

She straightened her back, breathed deeply, and blinked—not wanting him to see how near she was to tears. Of course, he knew. As she turned, a knuckle gently touched wet eye lashes and he pulled her into his arms.

"Your mom knew you were happy." They remained in each others arms for many minutes before she spoke again. "I've missed you."

"Come."

Sara protested as he bent to remove her boots. She protested again as he stopped her hands and pressed her against the bed.

"Stay." He disappeared for a minute, returning with several large bath towels warmed by the heated rack he had insisted on installing in their bathroom; another one wrapped around his waist. Each piece of her clothing was removed as he covered her with a towel. There was no reason to speak. His hands moved across her shoulders, down her arms, and between her fingers. Tension and weariness lifted; Sara smiled as his hands moved to her legs.

"I need you," she said.

He twisted his finger. "Not yet. Rollover."

She rolled. His hands slowly moved to her knees, his thumbs pressing lightly against her skin until his hands rested at her hips. Using a thumb he made small circles across her belly, slowly moving downward until he reached that intimate place he sought. His hand never faltered as his eyes met hers when she made a quiet sound.

Finally, he spoke. "You are always with me, Sara." He stretched beside her, resting his head on one hand, pulling her hips against his. He whispered "You are here." He took her hand and placed it on his chest above his heart. Another shift in bodies and they were together, joined in rhythmic waves of passion, her hands searching for him as he did the same.

Some time later, they lay tangled in each others limbs, wakeful, rested and comforted.

He finally spoke of his mother. "She had a good life, Sara. Few regrets, friends who were there, a priest she had known for years."

"I'm sorry I was not there. I should have come."

Grissom shook his head. "No—not necessary. You were here when I got the call." He kissed her. "She had planned well." He moved to keep her within his arms. "However, all this made me remember a promise made months ago. Do you remember?"

She shook her head, "One to me?"

"Today—we are going to the park. I think its time I made good on that promise."

Sara was quiet—she remembered—rising up to face him, said, "Are you sure about this?"

"Yeah."

They drove to a large city park where signs announced a shelter dog adoption day, temporary fencing had been set up to hold dozens of dogs—small, large, recognizable breeds, mutts, barking and quiet dogs. They walked around looking at pretty dogs, small puppies, short hair, long hair, playful and serious, all vying for attention.

"How will we know the right one?" Sara asked.

Grissom looked at her, raising one eyebrow, a smile forming. "Should we let one pick us?"

She grinned. They filled out forms, made a donation, and moved with the crowd watching as others selected a pet. Another hour passed as they eliminated a few as to small or too loud or because the dog looked like someone. In the end, Grissom made the decision, or later, they decided the dog had made the decision. Grissom sat on the grass watching Sara as she asked questions, picking up one dog then another, when a brown puppy appeared several feet from his elbow. Big brown eyes looked at him as the dog's tail thumped the grass.

He waited as the puppy watched him—tail wagging but hesitant to approach. Sara watched, amazed that a puppy could show such will power to wait. When Grissom spoke, the puppy raised a paw and shook his head, but did not move closer. Grissom stretched out his hand and the paw rested in his palm.

"Sara—I think this is the one!" He waved her over. The dog took a step closer. "Hey, buddy, you got a name?"

Sara watched the interaction. Each time Grissom spoke, the puppy moved closer.

A young man approached. "This one is the last boxer. We had five this morning. If you're interested, the mother is at our shelter. She's a good dog." He extended his hand and gave his name to Sara and Grissom.

Sara asked the age of the puppy and several other questions. "Does he have a name?" She asked.

"Yeah. He's the runt so we gave him a strong name—Hank."

Grissom's eyes shot to her and at the same instant, both laughed.

"I guess we can change that, right?"

The boy looked confused but agreed. "It's pretty easy. Just start calling him something else. In a few days, he'll get use to a new name."

They took the puppy home and called him Bruno. It did not work; Hank knew his name and ignored all attempts at change.

"Beats anything I've ever seen," Grissom said with a laugh. He called the puppy. "Bruno, ready to walk?" The dog stayed on the floor, eyes followed Grissom. In the same voice, he said "Hank, ready to walk?" The dog met him at the door.

Hank kept his name.

…_It was a peaceful, comfortable life together_…

"Do I really make you happy?" Sara asked her question remembering his comment from several days before. He surprised her with his response to a question about paying for sex.

They were resting after an afternoon's romp with Hank. Years before they had found this place—public land seldom visited making a very isolated spot for the two lovers who continued to keep their personal lives separate and private from their co-workers. As Hank grew, they brought him here to run and roll and generally be a free dog. Today, they had played until all three needed rest. Grissom had stretched across an old blanket, one hand in Sara's, the other on his dog.

For several minutes, he gave no response to her question. His fingers laced with hers before he spoke.

"For most of my life, I avoided attachments that might lead to any commitment of emotions. I managed to keep anyone who approached me at a distance—looking back I know it was selfish on my part. Yet, from the first day we met, I knew—I knew you were different.

"When you moved to Vegas, I thought I could be no happier. I was wrong. The day we moved into our home, I felt that was the happiest day of my life, but it wasn't." He brought her hand to his lips. "I know every day I spend with you is the happiest."

His unexpected and long answer left Sara speechless. He raised his head to look at her and saw tears had pooled in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asked as his thumb wiped a trail of moisture.

"I'm happy, Gil. I could not imagine this life a few years ago."

The dog lifted his head to watch as Grissom wrapped arms around her.

…_Time and events changes lives, and Sara and Grissom were not immune to what happened to them and to those dear-- neither could know or would have believed possible…_

Grissom pulled his car off the highway and looked to the east watching the sun rise. He often thought this was the only time when the sun was brighter than the artificial lights of this city. In the past weeks, his mind and energies had been on tracking a serial killer; he had little time to contemplate what was going on around him.

Like so many, this one would leave memories of strangers who converged to become a face, a voice, a clue. His team had compiled evidence, worked theories, used their brains and experiences to bring closure. He backtracked his thoughts—not his team. He smiled.

He could not bring back the past, but so much would remain with him. Catherine, Nick, Greg, Warrick, and, of course, Sara, how they had affected him, inspired him without knowing it. Their passion for right, truth, and justice kept him going.

The sun cleared the distant mountains, coloring Las Vegas in orange and gold. He had said his goodbyes to everyone; briefly, hands were shaken, a few women gave him hugs and he was gone.

Now, he was anxious to get home. Hank expected him. He opened the door to find early morning light filling the area. He had always been happy with the arrangement of this open area—Sara's idea, he remembered. The chair moved slightly.

She got up and walked towards him, a broad smile across her face. Moving into his arms, she said, "I thought you might like company."

…_A perfect spring day, like so many others_…

The simple service was over and guests were moving to tables set up underneath a white tent. The bride and groom were surrounded by a dozen people chattering and calling words of congratulations—to the couple and to each other. Before the service, waiting in the sunshine, people had introduced themselves, welcomed by a tall woman who served as unofficial greeter to arriving strangers. Sister Deborah introduced the mother of the bride to the large group from Las Vegas. Greg and Nick stood in open-mouth silence as they recognized Laura Sidle as an older version of her daughter. They were also greeted by Hank, who seemed to know his place as he followed one of the women to chairs set up under a large tree.

The service was short and not traditional—no guest expected it to be. Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom walked from the house hand-in-hand to the front of those gathered. The only music was that of birds in trees and a rustle of wind in leaves in the trees. A scent of fruit lingered lightly on the noses of guests. Sara's mother, Catherine, Nick, Greg, and Jim were given seats on the front row. A rose had been placed in an empty chair.

The bride, wearing a simple cream-colored dress, made most of those present catch their breath and a few blinked back tears seeing her composed and solitary beauty. In front of their guests, standing underneath a large tree with a simple swing as the back drop, the couple turned to face the group. The civil officiate stood to one side and said a few words, asked appropriate questions, Sara and Grissom responded, exchanged plain gold bands and were announced as husband and wife.

Catherine and Jim Brass watched as others crowded around the couple. "I never thought I'd see this day," he said. His hand had already wiped his eyes at least twice.

"Oh—come on, Jim. We've known Gil for years—always the straight arrow. You knew he would talk her into this!" She nudged him with an elbow. "Let's go eat cake."

_**The End to A Few Days Series! Thanks for reading**. **Leave us a review/comment!**_


End file.
